Not On My Watch
by windscryer
Summary: Restocking their supplies leads Dean to realize they're short on one in particular: hope. Post-Croatoan, though not necessarily RIGHT after it. No slash.


Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Sad, but true.

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They stopped in a little town in Oklahoma on their way to a possible haunting in New Mexico.

Sam's head lifted from the window where he'd been pretending to sleep and blinked at the church just outside his door. "Dean?" he asked. It was confused, but not quite befuddled enough to be sleepy, confirming Dean's suspicions about Sam's recent level of consciousness.

Dean didn't miss the part where it was also just a little bit wary. Oh fine. It was scared.

Sam was fucking scared and it was no doubt because of what Dean had told him. About Dad's parting gift of paranoia.

Fuck that. Dad was wrong. End of story.

Dean had said that, but it seemed the only way to make Sam believe it was to believe it himself first.

Dean repressed an annoyed sigh, knowing Sam would think it was for him and not for their dad—who Dean loved but would happily knock on his ass with a right hook if he could right now—and slapped Sam's leg.

"We need to restock our supplies," he said and climbed out.

Sam followed after a moment and met Dean at the trunk where the elder brother was digging out containers for holding water. Holy water, to be specific.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but when Dean held up a large jug that was half-empty, Sam took it. Dean had an armful of smaller canteens and flasks and when they were securely tucked in place, he shut the trunk with the other hand and led the way up to the door of the tiny Catholic sanctuary.

The fact that Sam hesitated at the threshold did not escape Dean's notice. He cursed silently, eyes flicking upward when the Lord's name was invoked, but when no lightning came to strike him down for his blasphemy, he took that to mean that maybe Someone felt guilty for Their part in all this.

Okay, that might be taking it too far, but Dean liked imagining that, so he kept that thought tucked into his head.

Sam's eyes darted around, and Dean might have thought it was his usual paranoia at being caught hoarding holy water if he didn't know better. Dean had always found that a little ridiculous since, _hello_. They totally left it out here for anyone to get to. There was even a _sign_ that said you could take some with you.

Granted, they probably didn't envision people nearly draining the font, but still. Hell, they were far more likely to use it to banish actual evil than most people who dipped a bottle in here. He figured that was reason enough to do this without feeling guilty.

And since they had places to go and things to kill...

Dean set down the extras and dunked the first of his bottles. Sam was still looking around, shoulders hunched like a kid in a candy store trying to shoplift for the first time.

Dean filled three bottles before he spoke up. "You gonna fill that thing sometime this millennium or you just gonna cuddle it to death?" He glanced up and screwed the cap on the bottle in his hand.

Sam flinched, then looked at the font. His grip tightened on the jug. "I—" he said, but stopped there, shaking his head slightly.

Dean watched him for another moment, brow furrowing.

The hell? They did this all the time. Sam was stupid about the supposed theft, but usually he just looked guilty and said a prayer of apology.

And then Dean realized just how much their father's last words were affecting his youngest son. Dean's lip curled and he had to literally bite his tongue to keep from cussing the man out aloud.

Instead, he dipped a hand in the font and flicked it upward so that Sam was splashed with a healthy dose of the sanctified liquid.

Sam froze, eyes wide as the water ran down his face, dripping from his hair and his eyelashes and his nose.

"The hell?" he said, sounding annoyed and _normal_ for just a moment.

Dean smothered the grin that bubbled up. "I didn't see any steam," he said, taking Sam's arm and moving him back and forth as if to look him over more closely. "I can try dunking your head under though, if it'll make you feel better."

Sam scowled and Dean let the grin free.

"You're not evil, Sam. Never have been, never will be."

Dean hadn't intended that declaration to be so profound, but from the abject relief that washed over Sam's face, it had hit home pretty hard.

Sam then flushed and looked down, fingers flexing on the jug he held. He coughed. "Right," he said, trying to pretend that he hadn't totally been thinking that. "Of course not." He unscrewed the cap and pushed the bottle under, letting it fill.

He still hesitated, for just a heartbeat, before his hands touched the water, but when no steam arose his confidence grew and he pushed it under further to fill faster.

Dean shook his head and chuckled as he grabbed the next bottle and joined his brother in the task.

They worked quickly and quietly until a voice interrupted. "You know we have a drinking fountain. That's really a more appropriate place to refill your bottles for the road."

Sam jumped, guilt flashing all over his face, but Dean just turned and smiled widely at the priest who'd snuck up on them.

"Oh it's not for us, Padre," he said easily. He nodded at the large crucifix displayed on the wall behind the altar. "We're just here to gather supplies for doing the Lord's work."

The man was about Bobby's age and he looked at them shrewdly, then glanced out the door behind them. His eyes widened and he looked back at them, scanning their faces. His head tilted after a moment. "Yes, I imagine you are."

Dean's smile faded slightly before he bolstered it. Before he could say anything else, the priest raised a hand and made the sign of the cross in their direction as he spoke again. "Be careful and go with God, my sons. You do your Father's work."

Dean blinked at that, unsure for some reason as to whether there was a capital 'f' on that word or not, and looked back to see what the priest had seen. Nothing there, though, but the setting sun bathing the open countryside and the Impala with its rosy hues.

"Father?" Sam said, not content to let the remark pass unquestioned.

The priest turned back and smiled. "It's been some time since I saw that beauty last. Long enough for the sons of the man who drove it to have grown up and taken on his mantle. But the memories of the way he saved my life haven't faded at all." His head dipped once. "Tell John that Father Priestly sends his regards and prays for him."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, but Dean was the faster draw.

"Father _Priestly_?" he asked wryly.

The priest grinned. "I took that as a sign that my life's work was already chosen for me. Not everyone is so lucky to have their destiny in their very name." His head tilted again and his grin widened. "But then I'm not the only one in this room who could say that, now am I?"

He started to turn again, but Sam seized his chance.

"Our father's dead."

Dean glared at him and Sam winced. Dean hoped that meant his words were _not_ the ones he'd first intended to say.

Father Priestly turned back. "I am sorry to hear that." He crossed himself and glanced upward. "He rests in the Kingdom of Heaven then."

Dean snorted. "Not exactly."

Father Priestly frowned, but Dean waved him off and stuck the next bottle under the water. "Don't ask," he mumbled. "Long story."

Sam gathered his courage and spoke one more time.

"You said that you believe in destiny. Do you believe that a person can change it? Their destiny, I mean?"

Father Priestly came back toward them, obviously taking Sam's question very seriously. Dean continued to fill his containers silently. If he opened his mouth it would be to stick his foot in it probably.

Best let the Padre handle this one.

"That depends. I believe I could have done something other than join the priesthood, but would my life has been as fulfilling?" He shook his head. "It might not have been bad, but I don't think it would have been as good, either."

Sam swallowed a couple of times and licked his lips.

"What if... What if a person's destiny is to be evil? Not to help the world, but to destroy it?"

Father Priestly frowned, then it melted into the reverse and he smiled. "My son, the pure in heart are never destined to be evil. You and your brother fight evil, but you will not become it." He sounded so certain of it that even Dean felt something coiled in his gut loosen just a little.

He grinned, happy he'd let the priest do the talking, and slapped Sam on the shoulder. "See? Told you."

Sam shot him an annoyed look, then turned back to the other man. "You're saying that just because we fight evil, we're immune to it?" He shook his head. "I don't believe that. In fact, we've seen just the opposite."

"Nor do I," Father Priestly agreed. "You missed the first part of what I said. _Some_ who fight evil are infected by it and become what they once fought. Their intentions are not pure, their hearts are not either. Their reasons for hunting it are are valid, but they are also weak. You and your brother are not like them. Your reasons are good and pure and strong. That is why you will not fall where others have."

Dean watched Sam closely for his reaction. It was way more flowery than Dean would have said it, but the gist was the same: Sam wasn't evil and he wasn't going to become evil.

Sam sighed and capped the jug, wiping his hand on his pants to dry it before he held it out to the priest to shake.

"Thanks, Father," he said, lifting the bottle in salute.

Dean repressed another sigh. He'd have to try again later to knock some sense into Sam.

Father Priestly seemed to recognize that he'd not gotten through. He smiled and again made the sign of the cross over them.

"Travel safely and hunt well, my sons. I will keep you in my prayers." He turned then and left, heading for the back of the church.

Dean filled the last flask and capped it, tucking it into his inner jacket pocket. He looked at Sam who was silently gathering the bottles, head bent to the task—and because it made his damn bangs drop down into his face so he could hide.

Dean snorted. As if that could ever _really_ hide him from his big brother.

"Come on, Sasquatch. We've got a fugly to kill." He picked up the rest of the bottles and they headed back out to the car, stowing them in the trunk, then climbing into their seats.

Sam's face was set to Full-Brood and Dean was pretty sure the timer knob had been broken off on the 'forever' setting.

Dean stuck the keys in and cranked the engine, but he let it idle for a moment and looked over at his brother. "Sam—"

Sam sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I know, Dean."

"No," Dean said, stretching one arm over the seat back and half-turning. "I don't think you do."

Sam looked up in surprise as Dean jabbed a finger at him.

"You think that you're gonna go darkside. You can't trust yourself. I get that. It's stupid, but I get it."

Sam blinked and opened his mouth, but Dean didn't let him interrupt this time.

"You don't have to trust yourself, though. I wish you would, but if you can't, then fine. Trust _me_. I've kept you safe your whole life, haven't I? Trust me to keep doing my job as your brother. You're not going darkside. Not on my watch."

Sam swallowed and then looked away, but not before Dean clearly saw the shine in his eyes. "Okay," he breathed. He sniffed and nodded. "Yeah. Okay." He looked up and gave Dean a smile.

It was small and trembling a little, but Dean returned it full force.

"Okay," Dean said and faced forward, shifting the car into gear. "Good." He glanced over as he stopped at the exit to the parking lot to wait for some traffic to pass. "Now try and sleep. We're going to stop in a few more hours, but you look like shit, dude."

Sam barked a laugh and reached into the backseat to grab his jacket, balling it up and tucking it under his head. "Wake me—"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, pulling out onto the road. "No worries there, princess. You're perfectly capable of walking and therefore I'm not carrying your ass."

Sam smiled one more time, then closed his eyes and relaxed as much as he could.

Dean turned the music on to keep himself awake, but not so loud that it would keep Sam up. After that he drove toward the darkening horizon.

No matter how bad things got—and Dean wasn't dumb enough to think that they were going to get better anytime soon with the Demon still out there—they still had each other. That was all they really needed to keep each other going the right way.

Dean's jaw firmed and he silently repeated his vow. Sam was _not_ going darkside.

Not on his watch.

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Review, plz&thx!

Oh, and Jensen's role in Ten Inch Hero _might_ have played a tiny influencing role in the naming of the priest. But it really was more about having a Priest with the name of Priestly. It was amusingly poetic to my little brain.

And I hope none of you are now imagining Dean talking to himself with a blue or red mohawk. Even if that is somewhat MORE amusing. :D


End file.
